Under Moonlight
by swirling-summernotes
Summary: If she thought about it logically, she really has no reason to be anxious. But she creeps downstairs anyways, just to make sure his heart's still beating.


author's note: Two things you need to know: 1) this takes place May 3rd, the night after the Final Battle. 2) Harry and Hermione will not kiss and they are not in love. They are friends in this fic. Personally, I am not a Harmony shipper. I've wanted to write this for three years now, so here it is, finally. Hope you like!

disclaimer: not jk rowling, that much is clear. not A Great Big World. not christina auguilera, whom the line below belongs to.

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**and anywhere I would've followed you**

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Moonlight streamed into the room, slivers of ivory reflecting on the deep red walls and velvet hangings. The room was dark and calming. A lone candle flickered on one the bedside tables in the girls' dormitory. It gave the room a comforting feel, and Hermione buried deeper into her pillows. She was laying over top of the covers, too tired to move but not tired enough to crawl underneath the covers to sleep.

Her eyes stared at the big, round moon, but they stared without seeing. Her chest felt so empty that it ached. Anxiety rolled over in her in waves, clutching at her heart and infecting her brain until she thought she might stop breathing because of it. But she forced herself to remain calm, and she stared hard at the moon until her breathing regulated. She had no more tears left to cry.

The door opened and closed with a soft click, but Hermione didn't turn her head to see who it was. Footsteps carried closer to her bedroom, the shadow of someone loomed over her head, and her heartbeat sped up again. But as the figure drew closer, Hermione realized it was only Parvarti Patil. Looking up into the girl's face, she waited for an explanation as to why she was standing by her bed.

"Er, I just wanted to let you know that Harry's in the common room and it looks like he's having a nightmare. I-I tried to touch him to calm him but he wouldn't relax," Parvarti whispered. Her eyes were tired and there were deep purple bags underneath them.

"He doesn't like being touched when he sleeps," Hermione replied listlessly. Parvarti took this as dismissal, and returned to her own bed. Hermione rolled over to see her climbing under her covers.

"Thanks," she whispered. Parvarti nodded in response, her head resting on her pillow. A small smile ghosted on her lips. Hermione gave a small one in return, and slid out of her bed. She crept as quietly as she could out of the dormitory and closed the door behind her. She padded softly down the stairs, trying to steady her heart at the sight of her own shadow, telling herself she was being silly. Somehow logic did not calm her this time.

The common room was warm and cozy, much like her dormitory. Rubble was left around the edges, but most had been repaired. A fire was burning, and Hermione went to the couch in front of it.

Harry was lying on the couch, and Hermione knelt down in front of him. His eyes were scanning some unseen image underneath his eyelids, and his head was twitching back on forth. He was lying on his stomach, clutching a pillow to his chest, his glasses askew on his face. Hermione reached out and gently removed them, her fingers accidently brushing against his scar.

She reached out a finger and gently traced the red line that was so famous in the wizarding world. It angered her, almost, to think that the wizarding world had been glorifying a piece of Voldemort's soul.

Sighing, she put the glasses on the table and picked up a book that was resting there. She settled herself on the floor, leaning against the couch by Harry's head. She opened the book (New Theory of Numerology) and began to read. Slowly, Harry's breathing regulated, his breaths became slow and measured, and Hermione found herself more at peace than she had in months. She was comforted by the sound of his breathing. With every breath her anxiety lessened, with every breath her mind was more relaxed. She had heard the sounds of him sleeping quite often over the previous months, but she never had fully appreciated it the way she did now.

She nestled her head closer into the couch and drew her knees up to her chest, losing herself in her book and in the steady sounds of Harry's breathing.

Awhile later, ten minutes or an hour or three she did not know, she felt Harry stirring behind her. She turned to face him, closing her book and marking her place as she did so.

"Hermione?" Harry asked blearily, rumpling his hair and rubbing his eyes. He propped himself up onto one elbow, and Hermione wordlessly handed him his glasses from the table behind her. "What're you doing here?"

She held up her book. "Wanted to read bit – and I was comfortable."

Harry smirked. "Of course you did."

Hermione didn't mention that he, in fact, was the real reason she was down here. She wasn't sure he'd like it all too much. But gathering her Gryffindor courage, she took a breath and spoke.

"And I was comforted," she said quietly, so quietly that she wasn't even sure he heard her.

"By what?" Harry asked, yawning again and slumping back down onto his stomach. He clutched the pillow tightly to his chest, looking at her with his brilliant irises. She held his gaze for a moment, brown to green, before dropping her eyes to her fingers that were twisting in her lap.

"Your breathing," she replied, softly and simply.

"Oh."

Hermione looked up again, meeting his gaze.

"I'm sorry."

The flames from the fire danced in his eyes, and she could see them on the reflection of his glasses. Her heart was quickening again at the mention of his not-so dead death, but she stared at the gentle rise and fall of his back and once again willed herself to stay calm.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Hermione said, "I could never ask anyone – least of all you – to apologize for such a selfless act." She gave a small laugh, a laugh that was merely breath forced from her nose, and continued.

"Just – just don't do it again, all right?"

Harry gave her a cheeky grin. "I don't think such an opportunity for sacrifice will come again quickly, so all right."

The duo fell into a comfortable silence, and Hermione was about to turn back towards the fireplace and pick up her book once more when she caught sight of the expression on Harry's face.

"You're either thinking of Quidditch or Ginny," Hermione said teasingly, "and I'm betting a Galleon I know which one it is." She shot him a knowing glance.

"What? What're you talking about?"

"You know," Hermione said, gesturing to her face, "you have that expression on your face. The one you get when you're thinking about Quidditch. Or Ginny. Or Christmas. I think we have a word for it now – love, is it?"

Harry blushed. Hermione could hardly make it out underneath the dim lighting, but she grinned triumphantly. "So, which was it?"

"Can't hide a single thing from you, can I?"

Hermione shook her head.

Harry blushed even deeper, if it was possible. His ears turned bright pink and his neck became blotchy.

"You were wrong, actually," he said, his voice lowering so that Hermione had to strain to hear, "I was thinking about you and Ron." His eyes were downcast as he spoke.

"Oh, Harry."

Hermione lifted herself from her spot on the carpet and Harry sat up as she took a seat beside him and wrapped her arms around him.

"Hermione – cant- breathe," Harry choked out.

"Sorry!" She loosened her grip on him, burying her face into his shoulder.

Extracting a hand from around him, she placed it on the left side of his chest, so that it was sandwhiched inbetween the two of them.

"I can feel your heartbeat," she whispered.

Harry's light laugh rumbled in his chest. "Yeah, that's generally what my heart does – it beats."

"Thank God," said Hermione. She held tightly for a few more moments, relishing in the steady drum of Harry's heartbeat underneath her fingers before releasing him.

"Thank you," she said, after she had let go. Resting on her side, she leaned her head on the back of the couch, curling her legs underneath her.

"For what?" Harry asked her, leaning his head back as well.

"For going to the Forest." Hermione could not bring herself to speak the words, could not bring herself to say "for dying".

"Ah. That."

"I'm proud of you, Harry. Really proud." Hermione knew that he was not good with discussions on feelings, she knew that she was treading in unsafe waters, that at any moment Harry could shut down the conversation when he felt she had said too much. And so she was careful with her words, even though there was so much more she wanted to say. But Harry looked at her with an expression of gratitude and she knew that he had taken her words with warmth.

"Was it hard?" Hermione whispered.

Harry turned his head so that he could look her right in the eyes. "Easier, actually than you'd expect."

Hermione blinked slowly as she regarded him. He turned to face the fire again, and she studied his profile – the curve of his nose, the mop of hair on his head, the arch of his eyebrows, in something akin to amazement. Her heart was bursting for him beside her, in wonder and amazement for all that he'd become. She hoped to be half the person he was when she grew older. She closed her eyes briefly, basking in the rare moment of tranquility.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs behind her told her that Ron was coming down the stairs. She turned to watch him, her heart fluttering at this sight of his red hair. He crossed the room in long strides and threw himself down on the spot beside Harry.

The three were silent for a moment, before Ron spoke up.

"So, Harry," he said, "I've been thinking."

"What's up?"

Ron shifted to face the two of them better. It was deep into the night by now, Hermione mused, and she wondered when the three of them would ever return to a normal sleep schedule.

"If Voldemort's soul was attached to your soul, making him a part of you for basically your entire life," Ron lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear, even though no one was in the common room (habit, she supposed) "– does that mean, for seven years, I can say that I was technically best mates with Voldemort?"

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, "_honestly_!"

But Harry was laughing, a deep laugh that shook his whole body, a laugh that left him gasping for air. Hermione had not heard that laugh in so long.

And Ron was chuckling too, clearly amused with himself. And when Hermione stopped and thought about the stupidity of Ron's comment, she laughed, too. It felt so good to laugh that she didn't want to stop.

"Hey," she heard Ron say from Harry's side, "I'm glad youre alive, mate."

"Yeah, me too."

Hermione closed her eyes and smiled a small smile. Her heart beat normally in her chest, now, her breathing regular and steady.

The moon was still hung high in the sky, whole and round and full, giving a small amount of light to the three people in the abandoned common room.

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author's notes: review if you like. they're super appreciated. favourites without reviews are not so much appreciated.


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